


Hematosis

by ashes_of_roses (KendraLuehr)



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Vampire, F/M, Older Man/Younger Woman, Seduction, Vampires, and i've been wanting to play with that ever since, but my intro to horror class decreed vampirism as a type of cannibalism, i'm not usually a fan of the vampire trope
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-10
Updated: 2017-07-07
Packaged: 2018-11-12 08:40:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11158263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KendraLuehr/pseuds/ashes_of_roses
Summary: The year is 1857, and young girls have been plagued by inexplicable vampire attacks. As the town's schoolmaster, Will Graham takes the orphaned Abigail Hobbs under his wing, not realizing that she and Hannibal Lecter are luring him to his doom. (An historical AU/retelling of the events ofHannibalS1)





	1. Unforeseen Consequences

**Author's Note:**

> Back when I took an Intro to Horror class, we discussed how vampirism is essentially an act of cannibalism. That's always sat in the back of my mind, and I've been wanting to try this AU out for a _long_ time now, but I'm always leery about writing vampire AUs. I know they have such a poor stigma, but I really wanted to try this because, if handled in a "non-teenybopper" sort of way, I think it can be really cool. And as a side note, hematosis is a blood disorder. It is believed to be genetic, which is why I thought it'd be symbolic of vampirism since there's like a "bloodline" of those who've been turned. I don't know, it made sense to me at the time, haha. 
> 
> Anyway, I'm pretty excited about trying this out, so I hope you enjoy the first installment! I'll be adding in Hannibal and Alana very soon, as well as various other characters. I felt that Chilton HAD to be the reverend type character, because Hannibal referred to him as a charlatan in the books. I also still had Will orphan Abigail (indirectly), because I'm trying to somewhat parallel the events of the show (but not strictly). Anyway, encouragement/feedback is always appreciated. I'm fairly busy these days, so an added incentive always helps for speedier updates! :) I hope you enjoy!

"Garrett Jacob Hobbs! This is your last warning!"

The man in question peered through his curtained window toward the yard below, trembling and wetting his lips as his lawn continued to gleam with the bright, dancing flames from lit torches. He could practically feel the heat on his skin.

_"Hobbs!"_

Sheriff Jack Crawford emerged from the angry mob, his dark brows knit, and his features contorted in a quelled rage. He had recently lost his beloved wife, Bella, to the continuous vampire attacks. Up until that moment, the creature had been feeding on the same type of woman: slight in stature, fair-skinned, with long, dark hair and blue eyes – so the death had come as both a shock and an incentive for the community to fall into an uproar. What had happened? What had _changed?_ Was Bella's death an act of vengeance, or a mere accident? Regardless of the true reason, an anonymous tip had led the townspeople to Hobbs' front door, and they were now intent on spilling blood.

"Papa?" Fearful and ashen, Abigail emerged from her bedroom and met her father in the foyer.

"Go out the back door," he instructed. "No matter what you might hear, I want you to go and _keep_ going. Do you understand me?"

Abigail's brow knit and her bottom lip trembled. "B-but...but what about you and Mother?"

"HOBBS!"

The two jumped, Garrett being the first to recover as he quickly maneuvered his daughter toward the back of the house. He needed to get her to safety. If they were to stake him, they would possess her, and he could _not_ let that happen.

When there still failed to be a surrender, Jack nodded to his right hand man, Brian Zeller, who signaled the attack. He hefted up the front of a battering ram and three other strong, beefy men – steelworkers, as it were – went to his aid.

As the first shock of wood against wood rattled the house, Hobbs ensured that Abigail was on the path to safety before returning to the foyer.

"Garrett!"

He met his wife, Louise, at the front of the staircase, her wide eyes reflecting in his own as she fearfully reached for his hands.

"What are we going to do? They'll get inside before long…the door won't hold!"

"Did you see Abigail?"

"No – she was doing her needlepoint while I tended to dinner, but when I came into the sitting room, she was gone."

Hobbs nodded with relief. If Louise had failed to take notice of Abigail's departure, then perhaps the rest of the town had as well.

_Crash!_

The door splintered, and Louise screamed as Zeller led the brigade into the foyer. A small table overturned, and the vase sitting on top hurtled to the floor in a loud, echoing shatter.

"There he is!" someone shouted. "Get him!"

Louise tried to intervene, but was immediately shoved aside. Hobbs found himself pinned to the wall before being wrested to the floor, his wife's screams reverberating in his skull as Reverend Chilton appeared with his Bible.

Holding the leather-bound book above his head, the charlatan began chanting a series of prayers as Jack, Price, and Zeller held Hobbs down.

"Do you, Garrett Jacob Hobbs, take it upon thyself to relinquish the sins Satan hath seated upon thy brow?"

Hobbs let out a dark laugh, only to flinch when Jack struck him across the jaw. A bead of black blood appeared on his bottom lip and, briefly, his tongue darted out to taste the ever-craved liquid. His eyes glittered within the candlelight.

Lifting the Bible up higher above his head, Chilton exclaimed, "In the year of our Lord, 1857, I declare unto thee a sentence of death! May the Lord have mercy upon thy soul!"

Jack unearthed a wooden stake and hammer from beneath his coat, and Louise began sobbing as two men held her in place. The mob circled forward, eager to see the carnage.

"Bring me the woman!" Chilton commanded.

As Jack awaited the order to strike, Louise was dragged kicking and screaming over to the smug reverend, her eyes wide and panic-stricken as he lifted a cross and placed it against her forehead. The metal seared into her skin and she gave a high-pitched, warbling screech.

"She has been turned!" he hissed. "Prepare a second execution!" Now nodding to Jack, the sheriff nodded back and brought the hammer down on Garrett's stake with a triumphant, deafening _thwack._

* * *

Will Graham had elected to stay home that evening. Each day, he would tutor a few local pupils after school, then retire to his room and read various selections of poetry, perfectly content to rely on his own company. As a young boy, his father had recommended that he become a blacksmith, but Will had been adamant about having as little to do with the townsfolk as possible. He had no desire to mingle. It was why he had become a schoolmaster, seeing how extensive social activity was frowned upon.

On this particular evening, however, Will had remained home out of guilt more so than actual desire. Something had caused him to speak up. During one of his nightly reads, he had spotted a young woman – no, a mere girl – being attacked by Hobbs in the field across the way. He knew he had to do something about it. His friend, Jack Crawford, had lost his wife Bella, and God only knew how many others would have to suffer. He prayed a similar fate would not befall Alana Bloom, a woman that had long since held his fancy.

That was when Will heard a noise. Startled, he lurched up from his chair and swept up his coat. With jittery limbs, he moved over to the door and ripped it open, only to blanch when he peered down and spotted something moving through the slats of his porch.

"Show yourself!" he commanded. "Go on, before I'm forced to defend my house and home!" Groping toward the inside of his doorway, he reached for the rifle he used to shoot game and occasional pesky vermin. A soft sob reached his ears and he halted, shaken. "H...hello?"

"Please..." Sniffling, a young woman crawled out from underneath the porch and trembled, her once wide eyes now screwed into half-moons. "My papa...and my mother... _Please,_ sir, you have to hide me!"

Will fumbled with his rifle, nearly dropping it as he propped the weapon against the side of his house. It was Abigail Hobbs. He hadn't had the pleasure of teaching her, seeing how her father had always been so _monstrously_ protective. She had been homeschooled from infancy to adulthood. "What's happened?" he demanded. "Your legs..." He trailed off, now appraising the bloodied hash-marks on her skin. "You're bleeding."

Abigail followed his gaze and sobbed piteously, breathless and weak as she lifted her dress to inspect the wounds. After a moment, she finally managed, "There were brambles... I must have snagged them on my shins and calves." She looked up at Will then, helpless and miserable. "Please, sir, I don't know where else to go... My father very rarely let me go into town on my own, and I do not have any friends. Not truly, anyway."

Guilt-stricken, Will lowered his eyes. "Come inside," he entreated. "We can get you cleaned up and taken care of, but please - if someone stops by, you _must_ be quiet. No one can know you are here."

Bewildered, Abigail scrunched her brow before nodding. Now taking his offered hand, she followed him inside and closed the door behind her.


	2. The Hobbs Girl

"Come over to the basin."

Holding herself tightly about the middle, Abigail appraised Will with brief suspicion, then came over and had a seat.

"Now lift up your skirts."

Horrified, she gawped at him in clear alarm. Her father had always warned her about this – about men who preyed on young women such as herself!

Seeming to understand her shock, Will, too, became embarrassed and carried a hot pot from the fire over to the table. Pouring the water into the basin, he lowly explained, "I know it is improper to request such things, Miss Abigail, but if left untreated, these cuts could become infected. You do not wish to die, do you?"

Still pale and ashen, Abigail slowly hitched up her skirts to reveal the shallow, already scabbed wounds she'd acquired from the field. Her cuts did not go beyond her mid-shins, so she still managed to retain a level of propriety. "Are you a doctor?" she asked.

"No," Will said, "I am a schoolmaster." Incredulous, he added, "Has your father told you nothing about the townspeople?"

"As little as possible," she admitted. "He felt none of you were worthy of my acquaintance."

Will nodded, deciding that this was plausible. Despite his best efforts to acquaint himself with all the children in the village, he had never been able to actually _meet_ Abigail Hobbs. He had tried, of course, but was promptly turned away. He supposed it only natural that other villagers would face a similar plight. "And when you said you didn't have many friends…who _did_ your father deem worthy of your company?"

"No one, truly, though he allowed me to befriend Marissa Schurr. Her mother is – _was_ my mother's best friend."

"Why do you say 'was'?"

"I know they're dead." Abigail's eyes grew glassy as Will knelt before her. "I may be a recluse, but I'm not stupid. As I fled, the villagers were saying terrible things about my father…that he was a creature of the night, and that he deserved to be slaughtered."

Will lowered his eyes, now wringing his cloth from the basin. "And your mother…?"

"It was an angry mob. If they did not kill her, then she is now their prisoner."

"I can find out in the morning, if you wish."

Abigail said nothing, only watching him with her sharp eyes. Feeling self-conscious beneath her gaze, Will cautioned her of potential pain, then pressed the cloth to her skin. She winced at the sting of hot water, but otherwise did not emote.

"I will fetch Dr. Lecter in the morning," Will promised. "He can assess your condition far better than I."

"Doctor?" Appearing fearful, Abigail clutched at the scarf around her throat. "With all due respect, I will be quite alright, Mr…"

"Graham," Will supplied. "William Graham, though you may call me Will."

Chewing her lip, Abigail nodded slowly, a shiver lancing through her as he washed her wounds. With slow, gentle passes of the cloth, Will cleaned the grime from her skin and handled her with care.

"I've heard of you," she said after a moment. "Papa referred to your home as 'the Graham cabin,' but I was forbidden to go anywhere near you. I know I disobeyed him by coming here tonight, but…I didn't know where else to go."

"You did the right thing," Will assured her. "Another villager may not have been so tolerant."

"And you believe Dr. Lecter will be?"

"He is eccentric, but yes. I often go to him for various ailments. He treats both the body and the mind."

"And what are _your_ ailments?"

Reluctant, Will returned the cloth to the basin. "Nightmares, mostly…nothing too out of the ordinary."

"I trust I'll have nightmares tonight," Abigail whispered. "I've had them before, of course, but it's just that I…I…" Trailing off, she gasped as if she were winded and doubled over, now pressing her hand to her chest.

"What is it?" Will demanded, coming quickly over to her side. "Are you alright?"

Nodding weakly, Abigail allowed, "Yes, yes, I'm fine…I'm not sure what came over me just now." Blinking the stunned fog from her eyes, she lowered her hands into her lap and exhaled. "I apologize for the fright."

A scratch came at the door then, only momentarily startling Will. He gave a nervous laugh. "That must be my dog, Winston," he said. "I'd let him out before your arrival." Coming over to the door, he opened it and admitted a tawny, friendly-looking canine. Though the moment he spotted Abigail, he bared his teeth and raised his hackles.

"Winston! Stop that!" Will snapped. _"Winston!"_

The dog snarled low in his throat, then backed away before turning to dash into the neighboring room.

Quivering, Abigail continued to hold herself in acute terror.

"I'm so sorry," Will apologized. "He's never done that before…I can't imagine what's gotten into him."

"Nor can I," Abigail whispered. Though in her head, she could hear her father warning her, _'Animals are always the first to sense a pending danger. If at all possible, we must avoid them when in the presence of others.'_ But she hadn't been turned – not _fully_ – so she didn't understand why this dog had reacted so ferociously. With the poison of her father's bite, did that make her a half-breed?

"Miss Hobbs?"

Looking up from the floor, Abigail flashed Will a feeble smile. "I apologize, Mr. Graham. It's just…I suddenly feel quite tired."

"But of course," he assured her. "I can prepare you a place to sleep in the back room."

"And Winston?"

"He will stay with me."

"Oh, but…suppose I need you in the night? He may feel the need to attack."

Will paused a moment, now glancing over his shoulder with uncertainty. "Well…I suppose I could keep him out here, then shut the door leading to our rooms. He wouldn't be able to get to either of us that way."

Abigail nodded with relief.

"Come," Will entreated, "I will prepare your bed."

* * *

When morning's light arrived, Abigail felt a low pounding in her temples. She groaned, rolling over just as a knock came at her door.

"Miss Hobbs? Dr. Lecter is here."

Eyes abruptly snapping open, Abigail shot up in bed amidst her panic. Now reaching for her scarf, she hurriedly tied it around her throat before slipping back into her dress from the night before. Will had promised he would buy her more suitable clothing whenever it was safe.

"Miss Hobbs?"

"Just a moment!" she called. Briefly checking her appearance in the mirror – she _seemed_ relatively normal – Abigail passed a hand through her hair before opening the door. All at once, the false smile she wore wiped from her face.

"Miss Hobbs," Will began, "this is Dr. Lecter."

The stranger smiled down at her, his maroon eyes flashing queerly in the light.

Abigail's heart took a dive. He had her _father's_ eyes… Did that mean…?

"Would you care to open your mouth, please?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"I must do a physical examination," Hannibal explained. "If you could please have a seat, I can begin."

Distrustfully, Abigail moved over toward a chair and sank upon it. Almost glowering, she opened her mouth and waited.

Hannibal lowered his medicinal bag and peered at Abigail's tongue and gums. Taking hold of her chin, he also inspected her tired, blood-shot eyes and moved to take her pulse. But whenever he reached for her scarf, Abigail promptly slapped his hand away.

"It was a gift," she tightly said. "From my father… Surely you know he is deceased?"

"Yes," Hannibal agreed, unruffled, "I do."

"Then you must _also_ know that it is a gift that I do not wish to be soiled."

"I must check for lumps in your throat. If you are fighting an infection, then-"

"I am not." Abigail's tone was crisp and her eyes sharp. "Please, sir – Mr. Graham called you over to inspect my wounds, not my entire constitution."

"Unfortunately, an examination requires-"

"It's quite alright," Will cut in from the doorway. "Dear Abigail must still be in shock. She has lost her father, and from what I have been led to understand, her mother as well. Perhaps you should respect her wishes. If her condition worsens, I will call for you."

Appearing a bit perturbed, Hannibal straightened and turned toward the other man. "You have asked me here for my professional opinion, have you not?"

"Why yes, indeed."

"Then you must take note that it is never wise to give in to hysterics. Whenever possible, Abigail must go outside for fresh air and sunshine. It will do her body good." Sparing Abigail a glance that could almost be considered _snide,_ he added, "Keep tending to the wounds with hot water and soap. If they become infected, more severe steps will need to be taken."

Abigail blinked. "Severe?"

"Well, let us hope it will not come to that," Hannibal said, smiling. "Have a good day, Mr. Graham." He nodded to Abigail. "Miss Hobbs."

After he had ducked out of the room, Abigail released a breath she hadn't been aware of holding.

"I would ask your forgiveness, but I'm not entirely certain on whose behalf I should be apologizing," Will said. "You handled him rather curtly, Miss Hobbs."

"It's Abigail," she tightly said, "and I did not wish to see him. However, I thank you for your kindness, and I am appreciative for all you have done."

Will nodded in acknowledgement. "But of course. I'm about to go into town to fetch some supplies – a new dress too, if at all possible – but I would ask that you-"

"Where is Dr. Lecter from?"

"Pardon?"

"I've never heard of him before… Even though my papa enjoyed keeping me under lock and key, I would often hear gossip through Marissa and her mother. _You_ were certainly mentioned quite a bit."

Unbidden, a hint of scarlet came to Will's cheeks. Shaking his head, he turned and headed for the front room. "Earlier last night, you acted as if you had only heard of my cabin."

Abigail followed after. "A woman should protect herself," she coolly said. "I did not yet know if your intentions were pure, so I didn't feel comfortable admitting I knew who you were. Sometimes, the best survival tactic is feigning ignorance."

Will nodded, considering this. "If you're so aware of the town, why didn't you go to Marissa's house?"

"It's too far across the way, for one, and two, Marissa's mother is the sort who will turn on you if it's the popular opinion. I saw her there last night in the crowd."

"And Marissa?"

"No. She will always remain loyal to me."

"Then at least we have an ally," Will said, taking his coat off the rack by the door.

"Again, I implore you: where is Dr. Lecter from?"

"I don't really know," Will admitted. "He came to town about a year ago, and has been both reclusive and popular ever since. Some refer to him as Count Lecter, as well, but he is quite humble and prefers Doctor."

A _count?_ Rolling her lips together, Abigail felt her heart thud hollowly in her chest. About a year ago, her father had begun acting very strangely – disappearing at odd times of the night, growing distressed whenever locked in his room, and ultimately, he had _died_ – did Hannibal have something to do with Hobbs' sickness? _Their_ sickness?

"Where does he live?"

"Oh, just along the outskirts of town…he's closest to the cemetery more than any other location."

Abigail shivered. Will mistook her chill for the cold and instructed, "Come, go sit by the fire. I will return to you within the hour, and then we can have some mutton stew."

She offered a weak smile and a nod. "Thank you, Mr. Graham."

"Please, call me Will. Now that we are sharing a secret, it seems only appropriate."

"Yes, you're right – thank you, Will."

He gently touched her shoulder, then nodded before heading out the door.

Abigail glanced back at the roaring fireplace. She doubted she had long, so she would have to hurry…

* * *

"Good morning, Will – are you here for your usual?"

Will looked up warmly when addressed, offering Alana Bloom his fondest, most congenial smile as he entered the general store. Though not terribly common for a woman to run a business, Alana had taken over after her father's passing. Will so admired her conviction and spirit.

"I actually need a little more than usual," Will admitted. "Oh! And perhaps a few of those sweets?" He indicated the penny candies on the counter.

Alana raised a brow. "You're fond of sweets now?"

"Well…I've decided to start feeding my after school pupils," he lied. "Some of them stay over quite late for tutoring, so it seems like the right thing to do."

Alana's warm smile returned. "You're far too good for us, Will. You're doing this community such a great service. Why don't I give you these candies on the house?"

"Oh no, please, I couldn't-"

"I insist!" Beginning to pluck them out of the glass jars, Alana pulled out a bag and winked. "Besides, you're my very best customer. I know you'll be back."

"Indeed, I will – thank you so much, Alana." With his eyes crinkling warmly around the edges, he watched her work with a bright smile. "You know, the masquerade ball is coming up. Are you-?"

"Attending? Perhaps," she allowed. Smile turning impish, she teased, "Why, Will Graham – are you asking me to escort you?"

"W-well, I suppose _I_ would be the one escorting _you_ , but-"

"I would be delighted! It would give me an excuse to buy a new dress. Speaking of which…" She pointed to the clothing box beneath Will's arm. "Is that _your_ costume for the ball?"

"Oh, this? Uh…yes," Will lied.

"May I see it?"

Waggling a finger, he admonished, "Now, now, it's to be a surprise! I don't wish to take away the fun of the unveiling just yet!"

"Well then, at least let me know the color! You know how beaus are supposed to coordinate."

Feeling a fine layer of sweat beginning to accumulate, Will breathed a nervous laugh. "Why yes, of course, how silly of me…my costume is blue."

"What kind of blue?"

"Ah…" He wracked his brain, then finally settled on one of the only shades he knew: "Cobalt."

Alana clapped her hands. "Wonderful! I'll be on the lookout as soon as I close up shop!"

 _'So will I,'_ Will bitterly thought.

"Please stop by again soon, Will."

"I most certainly will. Have yourself a blessed day, Alana." Nodding to her, Will smiled and exited the shop in a panic. It would seem that he'd have to go clothes shopping. _Again._

* * *

With her face obscured by her cloak, Abigail kept to herself as she cut through town. Most of the villagers were far too self-absorbed to take note of her arrival, least especially with the cheers and jeers coming from the center of town.

 _"This is what happens when you prey upon our people!"_ Jack Crawford thundered.

In response, two heads on pikes rose above the crowd, causing fresh cheers to erupt in massive volume.

Abigail chanced a look their way, only to pale once she recognized the gaping, lifeless visages of her parents. _Ohgodohgodohgodohgod!_

Feeling sick to her stomach, Abigail quickly turned and pressed onward, tempted to plug her ears as the cheers and laughter followed her throughout the village.

By the time she passed the cemetery, her legs ached and her breath stabbed like knife points in her lungs.

"Miss Hobbs?"

She looked up then, startled, before spotting Dr. Lecter chopping wood alongside a cabin – _his_ cabin, she presumed.

"Have you called to complete your examination?"

"I have not," Abigail crisply said. "Might I have a word?"

Setting down his ax, Hannibal nodded and gestured toward the front door of his home.

Nodding as wordless thanks, Abigail stepped inside and finally removed her hood, her nose wrinkling as she took in the sight of jarred specimens and various medicinal brews.

"Please, have a seat," Hannibal encouraged.

"I will not," Abigail denied, "for what I have to say shouldn't take terribly long."

"Then please, let us not waste any more time," Hannibal said just as coldly.

"I know what you are," Abigail hissed. "You are the original creature of the night – the one who killed my father and wrought havoc upon this village!"

Hannibal laughed, his eyes twinkling with mirth as he re-adjusted his cuff links. "Is that all?"

"What do you mean, _is that all?_ Did you not hear what I said?"

"But of course I did. My only question is, why ever did it take you so long to draw up this conclusion? Your father saw me quite a bit in his last days."

Abigail paled. "I was never aware…"

"No one ever is," he allowed. "Avoidance of detection is imperative to my species."

"And yet you admit everything?"

"I feel no need to hide, least especially from those clever enough to lift the veil."

Abigail's brow furrowed and she crossed the room, finally taking the seat he had once offered. "If you and my father both suffered from blood lust, why have there only been one slew of murders?"

"I find my sustenance in neighboring villages. However, every now and then, I do feed locally."

"Bella Crawford?"

"Yes. She happened upon my path when my desire to feed was strongest."

Abigail felt a sharp prick in her chest, her eyes welling up with tears. "Did it have to be her? My papa _died_ because of you!"

"No, Abigail – your father died because of _himself._ An anonymous tattler saw him murder the Nichols girl, and then reported it to Crawford. Bella's death was merely the tipping point."

"But who…?"

"Not I, if that is what you are insinuating. I had nothing to do with the report. And why should I? To do so would risk my very existence." Hannibal stalked toward her then, his eyes dark and impenetrable. "I will keep your secret, Abigail – I trust that you will keep my own?"

"I will," Abigail whispered, his threat clear. "You have my word."

The darkness in Hannibal's eyes did not waver. "I believe you intend to," he agreed, "but past experience has shown I cannot rely on the weak whims of mortals. Please..." He upturned his palm. "Hold out your hand."

Abigail paled. "B-but-"

"Hold. Out. Your. _Hand._ I shall not ask you again."

Quivering, Abigail slowly lifted her hand, knowing full well what he intended to do. "Please sir, I _beg_ of you – I have already been bitten! My blood will not be pleasing to your palate!"

"Taste is not the purpose of this exercise," Hannibal snapped. "No, I intend to ensure your _complete_ loyalty to me, and as you are well aware, the only way to achieve such a feat is to feed upon the vessel in question." Pushing Abigail's sleeve up to her elbow, he promised, "I shall mark you where no one else will bear witness. Now please, Miss Hobbs – hold _still."_

White and shivering, Abigail squeezed her eyes shut as he lowered his mouth to her forearm. The sharp, stinging sensation of fangs penetrated her flesh and she whimpered, her hand curling into a fist as he drew just enough blood to bring her under his control.

When he was finished, Abigail gaped up at him in mute lethargy, barely able to speak as Hannibal returned her sleeve to its rightful position.

"There, now," he entreated. _"Now_ I can be certain of your unwavering servitude. Whenever I call, you shall answer – whenever I give a command, you _will_ obey. Fighting against the current is useless, Abigail. You _will_ drown. Do you understand?"

Abigail nodded once, blankly.

"Splendid. As our first order of business, you are to return to Schoolmaster Graham's. Whenever I am in need of your assistance, I will call for you." He held out a hand. "Rise."

Obediently rising from her chair, Abigail held still as he pulled her hood up and over her head. Once Hannibal was satisfied with her masked identity, he led her out the door and helped her down the steps, fully aware of how weak and woozy she was.

"You will have the strength to return," he promised. "Just listen to my voice, and I will guide you home."

Again, Abigail nodded, holding fast to his hand until he relinquished his grip. Despite feeling weak and light-headed, Hannibal was right – she _did_ have enough strength – and she managed to make it to Will's cabin undetected. Though the moment she entered her room and fell upon the bed, she plunged into a deep and fitful sleep, complete with what Hannibal desired her to do next.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A special thank you to those who have reviewed so far! The added incentive has helped in more ways than you can know, and I was able to update in just a few days. I naturally couldn't resist the prospect of a ball, because what's an historical AU without a dance scene? ;) Hope you enjoyed!


	3. Underhanded Wiles

When Abigail awoke again, it was mid-morning. Will was sitting at her side, fast asleep with a book in his lap.

Rubbing at her eyes, Abigail rose and squinted over at the sleeping man. Had she truly been under for an entire day?

"Will?"

He stirred, slowly opening his eyes. "Abigail?" Now moving upright, he drew in a sharp breath. "Oh, thank God… You had me so worried."

"Why? How long was I out?"

"Quite a while," he said. "Whenever I returned from town, you were fast asleep. I tried to wake you up for lunch, and then later on for dinner, but you wouldn't budge. And you were so pale…"

"I'm quite alright," Abigail assured him. "I suppose the shock just finally caught up with me, that's all." She paused. "Did you truly stay by my side this entire time?"

Appearing a bit sheepish, Will looked away before nodding. "I had to make certain you were alright," he said, "and after all this time, I imagine you are quite hungry."

"A little," she agreed, "but you needn't trouble yourself."

"Nonsense – I have plenty of stew left over in the icebox, so I'll heat some up for you in the kettle."

Abigail smiled, now slowly swinging her feet over the side of the bed. Will Graham was awfully  _quick_  to bend to her every whim and fancy. Her ego wanted to believe it was because he found her attractive, but his actions almost seemed driven by guilt. What could he possibly have to be guilty for?

"I bought you a new dress."

Blinking in surprise, Abigail looked over her shoulder as she reached for her hairbrush – or rather, the brush Will had been so kind to lend her. "Really? So soon?"

"It's not much," he warned, "but I didn't want you to keep wearing the same thing day in and day out. My salary doesn't allow much in the way of expenditures, but I've saved every penny I've ever earned."

"May I see it?"

"Oh! Well yes – yes, of course." Awkwardly lingering in the doorway, Will cleared his throat before stepping out into the living room. After a brief moment he returned, appearing shy and pleased as he handed her a long, slim gift box.

"The wrapping is so pretty!" Abigail exclaimed.

With a laugh, Will said, "Well, hopefully you'll feel the same way about the dress. My mother died during childbirth, so I'm afraid I never quite learned what women find pleasing."

"I'm sure it's lovely." Sparing him a genuine smile, Abigail opened the box and unearthed a simple, yet charmingly fitted calico dress. Gently running her fingers along the fabric, she beamed in delight. "I've never had a store-bought dress before," she admitted. "My mother and I always made our own clothing… Papa wanted us all to be as self-sufficient as possible."

Anxious, Will darted his eyes in between Abigail and the box. "Then…you like it?"

"I adore it – thank you so much!" Draping the dress over her bosom, she smoothed her hand along the garment before nodding happily. "I almost feel like royalty," she mused. "You've been so kind to me…however shall I repay you?"

"You needn't trouble yourself with that," Will pleaded. "You are my guest, and to be frank, you have no place else to go. It would go against everything I stand for if I turned you away."

Abigail frowned. "I do not wish to be a charity case."

"And you're not," Will assured her, "but it cannot be denied that you need protection. To send you out there with the townspeople would be reckless. They assume you have been turned."

Abigail hesitated, her mouth tensing as she lowered her dress back into the box. "And do you believe it?"

"Of course not. Would I be harboring a creature of the night if I believed it?"

"But truly, what is so terrible about them? Aside from his uncontrollable impulses, my father wasn't a murderer. He was gentle and kind, and always helped at every town function. Perhaps at times he was overbearing and curt, but no man is perfect."

Will looked away. "I must admit, I never really had the pleasure of knowing your family. But if you say that your father was a good man, then I believe it. It must have been the bite that twisted his morals."

"And my mother?"

"A victim of circumstance."

Abigail finally appeared angry. "How can one be a monster, and the other a victim? You seem to be forgetting that my father wasn't the original creature of the night!  _He_  was as much a victim as my mother – as  _I_  am!"

"Abigail, I meant you no offense… Truly, if I have offended you, I-"

_Knock. Knock. Knock._

Eager for a distraction, Abigail bustled over to intercept the caller, but Will was quick to intervene.

"Don't be daft!" he snapped. "If whomever is on the other side of that door were to see you, this could very well end up being your last day on earth!"

Abigail appeared displeased by his tone, but nevertheless hid herself when prompted. She only perked up again when she heard Marissa's voice.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Graham, but I didn't expect you to forget my arithmetic lesson… You were quite adamant about my grades."

"Well yes, forgive me, but-"

Abigail chose that moment to make her grand appearance, ignoring Will's sputtering as she crossed the room to her friend. Their hands touched, and for just a brief moment Marissa recoiled.

"Good God!" she exclaimed. "Your hands…they're so  _cold!"_  Briefly withdrawing, she instead moved her hands to Abigail's shoulders. "I cannot believe you've been hiding from me like this! Mother and I have been so worried!"

"I saw your mother at my parents' execution." Expression steely, Abigail stepped back to allow Marissa entry. "I trust you were kept in the dark?"

"Mother said it was too dangerous," Marissa allowed, "and even though I  _wanted_  to come, something deep inside told me not to." Directing her attention to Will, she coolly asked, "Did you not think it prudent to announce my best friend was still alive?"

"Forgive me Miss Schurr, but-"

"As long as you're protecting her, you will have my complete cooperation." Eyes flashing, she slyly added, "Perhaps you should give me a passing grade and just  _forget_  about the arithmetic? It's silly anyway. I won't need arithmetic to have children."

Will appeared dismayed, but nevertheless gave a tight little nod. "Very well. I shall give you passing marks for the school year."

Pleased, Marissa hooked her arm through Abigail's and began leading her toward the kitchen. "The town's in such a state," she said. "There's a new curfew, as well as this silly rule that  _every_  female must be accompanied at all times. I suggested that Timothy Wells accompany me to my bedroom, but mother was there to intervene. She's no fun."

Abigail's cheeks burned from secondhand embarrassment. "You truly have no shame, do you?"

"And why should I? Men are worth nothing more than what they can give you. Speaking of which…" She inclined her head toward the living room. "Just why are you staying with Mr. Graham? Has he been giving you some  _private lessons?"_

Abigail huffed in humility. "Of course not! Will isn't that way at all…though truth be told, I  _do_  wonder why he was so eager to take me in. He barely knows me."

"He's always been kind," Marissa said. "Odd, but kind. He'd much prefer the company of books to a woman – or  _anyone,_  for that matter – so he's not exactly the life of the party. Mother practically had to  _drag_  him to my sixteenth birthday, if you'll recall."

"That was him?" Abigail pursed her mouth, suddenly feeling amused. "He wore a wide-brimmed hat and kept to himself…I'd barely even noticed him."

"Well, perhaps he noticed  _you_  and is now trying to sow his wild oats. He's not getting any younger, and you would make a lovely wife." Glancing out the kitchen window, Marissa's lips quirked into a wistful little smile. "Older men are the best lovers. Mr. Shaw was my first, if you'll recall."

Abigail appeared embarrassed, but nodded.

"He had strong, powerful hands that knew just what to stroke and rub. Mr. Graham isn't an artisan though, so I doubt he'd be as good with his hands, but-"

 _"Must_  we talk about this? Will has been kind to me, and I do not wish to taint that."

Marissa's eyes flashed with mischief. "Well! You do not wish to taint everything, and yet you two are on a first name basis? It seems to me that the damage has already been done."

Picking at a groove on the kitchen table, Abigail sighed before lifting her chin. "Are you quite finished?"

"Not at all! Now that I know you're alive and well, you  _must_  come with me to the annual ball!"

"Oh, but-"

"We'll be wearing masks. No one will be able to tell it's you, if that's what you're so worried about."

Abigail chewed her lip, now fiddling with her loose neckline. "I don't know if Will would allow it…he seems convinced that-"

"Go without him knowing, then! I'll stop by tomorrow with one of my old gowns, and then once the coast is clear, you can sneak out and meet me at our old spot."

"Very well…"

"Wonderful!" Clapping her hands together, Marissa took Abigail by the shoulders and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "You won't regret this, I swear it! Now I would love to stay and chat, but I actually have some business to attend to in town."

"Chaperoned?"

Her lips quirked into a knowing smile. "I have my ways around that, admittedly… I'll see you soon."

Giving Abigail's hand one final squeeze, Marissa turned and headed for the front door.

* * *

"I came as soon as I was able. The townsfolk have been terribly strict as of late."

Hannibal looked up when Marissa entered his cabin, offering a smile as he placed a Mason jar onto a shelf. "You were right to come at this time. Preparations for the ball are underway, so there are far too many distractions to make you worthy of note."

Mirroring his smile, Marissa slowly undid the scarf around her neck, now baring the old bite marks from about a week ago. "You called for me and I came."

"As you always do."

"Yes."

Stepping toward him, Marissa willingly went into Hannibal's arms and tilted her chin, now clutching at his vest as she awaited the inevitable. When twin pricks of pain flared across her skin, she gave a soft, enfeebled whine while her eyes fluttered and closed. The pain soon transformed into pleasure, as it always did, and she gripped at Hannibal's shoulders with trembling, searching fingers. This was it – what she  _craved._

"Please…"

Hannibal removed his bloodied mouth from her neck, then with a careful, almost delicate gesture, laid her out along his divan. "You will sleep now," he whispered. "When I desire you to awaken, we shall begin our plans for tomorrow's event."

Marissa moved to touch his face, though the moment her fingers met with Hannibal's skin, she crumpled to the divan and succumbed to the deep, restorative sleep he had commanded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still trying to decide whether or not to continue this story. Outside of one lovely person, there really hasn't been much interest, and as some people are aware, writing fanfiction is very hard and time-consuming work. I started off very excited about the plot/concept, but in between work, real life stuff, and a general lack of interest, I've just found myself less and less encouraged to keep going. I would consider co-writing this story with someone, if they were interested in that, but they would have to have a thick skin since I would be editing their writing so that it blended with mine. Anyway, I suppose this is an "only time will tell" situation. Hopefully I'll have some inspiration again someday.


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